


I'll Deal

by Evaine



Category: Metallica
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaine/pseuds/Evaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are secrets, confessions, fears and comfort in the night. (Written: March 2005)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Deal

**Author's Note:**

> My first Metallica fic.

He had another nightmare last night. I heard him yell through the half-opened door of our connecting rooms. Ever since the accident, I’d insisted on connecting rooms saying it was for my own benefit, to assuage my own worry. I didn’t want anyone thinking he was the one needing the security. I’d been covering for him like that forever, it seemed. My demands were legendary by this time. But I didn’t mind. It was what I did. For him, for us… for the band.

He never cried when he had the nightmares. He shook. He shook like a fucking leaf – eyes wide with fear and terror, his breath coming in quick gasps. Full blown panic attack. Thinking you’re on fire again will do that to you.

But, there had always been nightmares - nebulous, foggy ones at first, childhood terrors invading his subconscious. I could never figure exactly what would trigger them, but I soon learned what to do to calm him. Then it was the bus accident. Hell, all three of us still had nightmares about that. But his were the worst. The first time he’d shrieked, I thought someone had entered the hotel room we shared and stabbed him. That was when the comforting had turned to something deeper.

I climbed onto the bed beside him and put my arms around his shaking frame. His face buried against my shoulder, I held him for however long it took for the trembling to stop and the terror to subside. I murmured soft words from time to time and stroked his tangled hair lightly, as I always had.

I held his shaking body for what seemed an eternity, my hand moving over his bright hair which seemed to have the most calming affect on him. Finally, when I thought my whole body would cramp up from the weight of him, I felt him begin to relax. Sighing faintly, I began to stretch my legs from where they were curled beneath me.

“Don’t.” His voice was muffled against my neck.

“Don’t what?” I winced as I straightened one leg then the next.

“Don’t leave.” It was barely a whisper.

“I won’t go anywhere, Jamie,” I reassured him, leaning my cheek against his head.

For five years, I had only called him Jamie in times like this. Any other time, in front of anyone else and he’d have decked me. He had an image – shit, we had an image to uphold. What we shared was definitely not part of it. Hell, we barely acknowledged it.

“Squirt, it was bad tonight,” he mumbled. His long leg flopped over mine and he moved a little closer, needing to feel something real, I suppose. “Saw him again, all broken, bleeding…” he shuddered and I held him close, murmuring soft meaningless words in two languages.

I think I had loved him from the moment I met him. That mane of blond hair, those never-ending legs and those eyes the colour of summer skies. And then he grinned and I had never been so bowled over by anyone, male or female in my life. He was beautiful when he smiled. I didn’t care that he was a guy. I was eighteen and I was dazzled.

The first time it happened, we were both so drunk we could hardly stand. It started as most things tend to with us – as a competition. Who could keep from coming the longest while being given a blowjob. Well, there were no girls in sight, so it seemed only logical, with two ten-dollar bills on the table, to do it ourselves. Yeah, we were that drunk.

I won that contest.

It should have been uncomfortable following that escapade, but it wasn’t. It was as if we shared a special secret. I held that feeling to myself as if it were a precious jewel, especially when Mustaine was around. James changed when Mustaine was there – he developed the ability to scare me.

On occasion, we would have further encounters. We experimented. We did what felt good. There was a level of comfort between us when we were alone that allowed for such things. And, somehow we managed to click on a physical level. We turned each other on, it was as easy as that. There were girls, lots of girls, but there were times when only what we found in each others’ arms would satisfy. It was our best-kept secret. Even more so than the nightmares.

Did James love me? No, I don’t think so, not then. He cared for me – as much as he was capable of caring for anyone other than Cliff.

Cliff. I think he felt about Cliff the way I felt about him. But Cliff didn’t return the feeling. Oh, he cared for James a lot, but he didn’t love him. Brothers. Cliff called them brothers. When we lost him, we were all devastated, but James was almost destroyed.

Months later, the nightmares were still coming and they were still bad.

“I’m pretty much a pussy, aren’t I?” He asked a long while later, stirring against me. His chuckle was rueful and charmingly shy. It was a shame that no one ever saw him this way, warm and vulnerable, but he’d never allow that. That he let down his guard with me was something I treasured. It never occurred to me that I did the same with him.

“No,” I replied sleepily, turning a little to snuggle closer now that the crisis was past. “Nightmares fuck us up, man.”

“Don’t you get fed up with dealing with me like this, Squirt?” He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes puzzled in the faint light from the street lamp outside the window.

“Fuck no. That’s what friends are for,” I reassured him.

“I think I loved him,” he admitted suddenly.

“We all loved him, Jamie,” I soothed, coming a little more alert.

“Naw, man. I mean _loved_ him.” He insisted. “You know what I mean.” I knew all too well what he meant. I’d felt that way about him for the past five years.

“Did he know?” I asked, almost hesitantly. It was so odd, laying in that bed, twined about each other, talking about our dead bandmate, and all I could think of was how glad I was that it hadn’t been James in that top bunk.

“Probably. He knew everything. But he didn’t feel the same way. I could just tell.” He reached out and brushed wisps of hair from my face with a gentle gesture. “It shoulda been you, Squirt,” he whispered in that rough voice. “I wish it could be you.”

“Yeah, me too.” There. It was out. I’d said it. He’d have to be a total idiot not to understand, and he was far from that. His thumb brushed lightly over my lower lip and he smiled wistfully.

“Can you deal? I… “ His eyes lowered. “I understand if you can’t.” His bare shoulders shrugged slightly. “But I just… with you… Fuck! I just wish...” His fist clenched beside my face but I didn’t flinch. It wasn’t meant for me.

“Don’t worry about it.” I curved my hand around his fist and squeezed gently. “I’ll deal, Jamie.”

“Damn it, Squirt, I’m so tired of these nightmares,” he said in a voice edged with despair.

“I know you are,” I comforted. It was all I could do. I couldn’t stop the nightmares from coming, no matter how much I wanted to. I could just be there when he needed me, as I always had.

“Here I am, almost thirty and behaving like a five-year old.” He rolled away from me and lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. I propped my head on my elbow and watched him, all silvery blue planes and angles in the moonlight. He was like some other-worldly creature, some male god figure from antiquity – for about the millionth time I marvelled that anyone, male or female, could be that beautiful. And that tormented.

“You had a panic attack, nothing wrong with that. Tons of people have them,” I said matter-of-factly.

“I shouldn’t.” He said shortly. “I hate it. Makes me weak. Fucks with me.” He laid a forearm across his eyes and sighed heavily.

“You’re not weak.” I studied the tense line of his jaw, his hand that was clenched into a fist, the slight flaring of his nostrils. I reached out and touched his shoulder, glancing down at the still angry scars on his arm and the fainter ones on his chest. They would heal, but would he? “You could have died, Jamie”

“Yeah.” The fist uncurled. “Yeah, I coulda.” One blue eye opened. He reached over and tangled a hand in my hair “You understand, don’t you?” He asked. Oh, there were layers to that question, many layers, too many fucking layers.

“Yes.” One word, but it answered all the layers.

“Make it stop, just for a while.” He tugged gently on the swathe of hair twined in his fingers and I leaned closer, looking down at him. His thumb moved to rub over my lips and I closed my eyes at the gentleness of the caress. “God, I’d be lost without you, Squirt. Fucking lost,” he whispered, replacing the thumb with his lips. “I just wish…” His mouth moved on mine.

He wished and I dealt – it’s what we both seemed to do best.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Barb for the quick beta and confidence boost! {{HUGZ}} And thanks to my good buddy Lisa for all the support and enabling!


End file.
